


First Kiss

by bbcsherlockaddict



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, First Kiss, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-28 11:19:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2730473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bbcsherlockaddict/pseuds/bbcsherlockaddict
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, a filmmaker decided to record strangers kissing for the first time. Arthur and Eames were amongst these strangers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Awkward First Kiss](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1310464) by [Lauriarty](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauriarty/pseuds/Lauriarty). 



> Inspired by the video "First Kiss" by Tatia Pilieva, and by a similar ficlet in the Sherlock fandom. 
> 
> Video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IpbDHxCV29A  
> To learn more about the making of this video: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/tatia-pilieva/the-story-behind-first-ki_b_4980015.html

All the cameras are already set up when the man comes in. What is this ponce in a three-piece suit doing here, Eames can’t help but wonder. This was supposed to be only people from the Industry. Or models, at least. Not stickler accountants from Wall Street. To be fair, the guy has something of a model-like presence. And he’s fit. But damn, even if Eames said he didn’t mind whether his partner was a guy or a girl, that he was just in for a “sensual experience” (and how does Mal even comes up with shit like that, seriously, he needs to change agents) it doesn’t mean it’s cool to match him with the random participant that nobody else wanted. Honestly, have you even seen this frown? At a _first kiss_ shooting? Time to bring the A-game, and throw him off this haughty demeanor. Or maybe the scowl only means he’s uncomfortable, and needs _reassuring_. Pfff. Lucky that Eames is nothing but a consummate professional.

"Well hello there, darling." (cue predatory smile).

"Hum, hi."

The shy smile. The dimples. Bloody buggering hell, the _dimples_. So he _was_ embarrassed earlier. And how young is the kid, exactly? The vest and the slicked back hair almost fooled him, but not quite.

"And what is a pretty young thing like you doing here on his own, love?"

"Name’s Arthur. And I believe today’s program is to kiss, mister… ?"

The serious, down-to-business face is back, and now on top of it "Arthur" is gratifying him with a dubious arched eyebrow. God, this kid is going to be a piece of work. And here Eames thought this was going to be an enjoyable paycheck.

"Eames. And drop the 'mister', after all we _are_ here to kiss, not to discuss stock prices."

The Englishman winks and, without missing a beat, hooks his finger in one of Arthur's belt loops and reels him in. 

"Smooth, hm? I can do smooth", Arthur chuckles, and he dips to drop a small kiss at the corner of Eames' mouth.

They are of a height, mere inches from each other, and Eames' eyes are tracking Arthur's, left to right, mesmerized. Scornful, bashful, playful, affectionate, that's too many personae to process in such a short time. They stand perfectly still for a moment, before he remembers just  _who_ is supposed to be the suave one here. Slowly, telegraphing his movements, he puts his closed lips right on Arthur's thin, crooked, beautiful ones. It's dry, closed-mouth, not a real kiss yet, and all the more intimate for it. He inhales the fresh, tasteful cologne. His mouth opens, he starts to nip at these lips, kissing them slowly, repeatedly, as if he wanted to taste them rather than open them. Arthur leans back, retreating, and Eames is scolding himself for being too bold when two long hands frame his face, as if to get a hold on the situation, and Arthur starts kissing back, tongue darting out. 

Eames' arms, which were at his side, wrap around that perfect waist, under the jacket and around the silky sides of the vest, land in the small of the young man's back with the urgency to bring him  _in_ , closer, and never let go. As if his hands had found their home. But after an moment it's not enough, his left hand rises, feels the defined back muscles, gets stuck in a bunch of fabric, and in a flurry of movement Arthur gets rid of his designer jacket, throws it off, let it flutter the floor while he reasserts his grip on Eames' jaw. The kiss deepens suddenly, hungry, he's in a two-arms embrace, one hand pressed to his back, the other at his nape. For a while they are lost, drowning, eyes scrunched shut, breathing each other's air, licking into each other mouth. When they come up for oxygen, there's an uneasy laugh from the crew behind the cameras and Arthur feels himself blushing crimson, his ears heating, and he hides into the man's collar, unable to confront that piercing blue gaze just yet. My god, these arms. He has not inclination whatsoever to walk out from these strong, tattooed arm. His face prickles with stubble burn, and the deep nervous laugh of Eames resonates in his chest. Finally he has to look up, and the Englishman is staring at him, smirking, mimicking his arched eyebrow from earlier. 

"Well, I believe your rigorous program has been complied with, what do you think?"

"Um, yeah, thanks, I mean, it's been lovely", he mutters, fishing his wrinkled jacket from the floor, smoothing his sleeves. 

Ariadne was wrong, this was emphatically _not_ a good idea. Sure, this may have been his most pleasant two minutes in months, but it's over, and he's making a total fool of himself. What was he thinking?! He doesn't even know this man. This beautiful, ripped, infuriating man. He retreats to the corner of the room hastily to collect his leather messenger bag and leave but a warm hand catches his wrist.

"Arthur? You mustn't be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling", Eames declares in that lilting voice of his, intent, before brushing past him and disappearing. 

When Arthur gets to the parking lot, his kissing partner is nowhere to be seen under the pounding L.A. sun. He sits in his black Prius, letting it cool doors open for a little while, calculating whether he's better off taking the 101 or the I10 a this time of day, when he notices something angular pocking at his hip through his trouser's pocket. A white business card, immaculate except for a phone number in blue ballpoint pen meticulously printed in a rounded handwriting. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments mean a lot to me <3 Also, this is unbeta'ed so if you notice anything wrong please let me know :)


End file.
